In the Garden of the Gods
When one is in the Garden of the Gods one should be, I suppose, inElysian humor. My mood, to the contrary, for private reasons of myown, was thunderous. I lay on my elbow among the kinni-kinic where Ihad flung myself down in the shade of a silver spruce. But the sun washigher now, and its rare, untempered beat was on me. Naturally I usedthe shifting orb as a text on the futility of life. What was the useof arranging things comfortably when they always disarrangedthemselves as promptly as possible? Now, there was Katherine—
The sound of a revolver cracked into my sombre discontent. Hard on itsechoes came the slap of running feet, and, as I guessed, the swish ofpetticoats. A raucous command to stop brought me to my feet instantly.It also brought the runner to a halt just out of my sight beyond theshoulder of the hill.
“I dare you to touch me,” panted a high-pitched voice that struck inme a bell of recognition.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” replied he of the hoarse bellow,soothingly. “You know that mighty well.”
“If you put a finger on me I’ll cry for help.”
“There wouldn’t anybody hear, Miss,” replied the heavy bass.
“You—you coward!” Her voice was like a whip.
“Oh, you can call me anything you like but you got to go along withme, Miss,” he said sullenly.
“I’ll not go a step.”
“I reckon you got to go, lady.”
“May I go, too?” My contribution to the conversation came from theknoll just above them.
“My contribution to the conversation came from just above them.”
They whirled as at the press of a button. The man was a huge hulkingfellow in corduroys, but he did not look the villain by a long shot.Indeed, his guileless face, lit with amazement at my words, begged tooffer a guarantee of honesty. Here certainly was no finisheddesperado. The first glimpse of him relieved my mind. We were in nopersonal danger at least.
“Who in time are you?” he wanted to know.
“Tavis Q. Damron, at your service. And you—since introductions aregoing?”
The young woman—she was a Miss Katherine Gray, stopping at the samehotel as I at Manitou—promptly took the opportunity to slip behind myback. For me, I was in a glow of triumph. It had not been twenty-fourhours since Miss Gray had informed me that she meant never to speakagain to me. And already the favoring gods had brought her to me onthe run. In my relation I felt myself a match for a score of loweringcountrymen.
“He shot at me,” she cried over my shoulder.
“It went off accidentally,” protested the man.
“I don’t care. He shot.”
“He’ll not do it again,” I promised, complacently.
My unlucky triumph must have crept into my voice. I felt her appraisewith deliberate eye my sixty-six scant inches. Nothing “hips” me morethan an inference that I am short. To be sure, I am not a giantphysically. Neither was Napoleon.
“I’m sorry not to meet with your approbation,” I said huffily.
“Oh, I did not say that. It would be unjust. You can’t help beinglittle,” she was pleased to say, and I swear I heard the chuckle inher voice.
“Any more than you can help being offensive when you are in thehumor.”
“Don’t take it so to heart. You may grow yet. You are very young, youknow.”
“Perhaps I am de trop. Very likely you were looking for somebodyelse when you came galloping down the hill,” I said sulkily.
“I was loo